


the one thing older than war

by iihappydaysii



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: 5x09 episode, Communication, Episode Remix, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Snakes, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23834218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iihappydaysii/pseuds/iihappydaysii
Summary: While on a bison hunt with Lord John Grey, Jamie Fraser gets bit by a venomous snake. With death just around the corner, Jamie makes a long-held confession. (A rewrite of 5x09.)
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey, Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Comments: 23
Kudos: 160
Collections: Outlander Bingo Challenge





	the one thing older than war

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the beta, MistressPandora! This is for the jamie/john/claire square for the Outlander Bingo Challenge
> 
> This was one of my favorite episodes of the season, but I just got inspired by the idea of John being apart of the events. A Lord John centric retelling. some moments and dialogue taken straight from the episode.

A herd of bison stood in the valley, each creature an individual rolling hill of brown and black. Their breath, snorted into the morning air, curled like chimney smoke, then whipped away in the autumn wind. Just one of these beasts would feed Fraser’s Ridge for at least a fortnight. 

Lord John Grey felt singularly alive as he stood under swaying branches, silent as a stalking wildcat, Jamie Fraser at his side. He had a solid grip on his rifle and was prepared to take a shot when the moment presented itself. Though Grey had more experience with a sword than a gun, he remained an excellent marksman. When Jamie had rapped on his bedroom door before sunrise, he found he did not mind being summoned from his bed, despite his late night card games with Bree, Roger, and Ian. Fraser thought he would be a particular asset on the hunt and he preened, subtly of course, under the compliment. 

The morning air was chilled and whipped against John’s cheek, fluttering the fur on his coat. One of the bison stepped forward, straying to gnaw a patch of purple thistle, which put the creature’s heart directly within John’s line of fire. He lifted his rifle, eyes flicking to Jamie who was perched like a bronze statue on the precipice of a craggy boulder. 

Grey adored this. The cold air. The abandonment of civilization. Men in the wilderness, the smell of their sweat and the scent of soil filling his senses. A return to a simpler time. The hunt. Primal and instinctual, the one thing, besides love, older than war. 

With a steadying breath, Grey returned his focus to the bison before him, angling his rifle with intent. A strong finger squeezed the cold metal of the trigger. 

Jamie screamed.

John jumped. Fired the rifle. Missed. 

_ Christ.  _

The bison scattered, galloping through the field in a thunderous storm of hooves. 

Jamie was still screaming.

“Jamie!” Grey shouted, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. 

With a grunt, Jamie collapsed on the rock, a bloodied knife clutched in his hand.

“What the devil happened?” Grey spat as he rushed forward, dropping to his knees before Fraser.

“Bloody snake,” Jamie hissed through his teeth and gestured toward the ground with a flick of his knife.

A snake’s head lay by Fraser’s boot and a few inches away, the rest of its body curled in the grass. Grey leaned in for a closer look. Pit viper. He’d seen one of these before. It had killed a horse in their party when he’d come down for Brianna’s wedding.

Bile burned in John’s throat. “I believe this snake is venomous. We need to get you back to your wife as quickly as possible.” If anyone could help Jamie, it was Claire.

Jamie whipped off his belt and strapped it around his thigh like a tourniquet. “Aye, but ye need to cut the wound first. Try to… suck out of the venom with your… mouth. It should buy me some more time.”

Grey stared down at the gaping, circular wounds on Jamie’s leg and remembered that horse. A big, black stallion who had not managed to survive the bite. He took the knife Jamie held out to him and poised the tip of the blade over the wound.

“Wait.” Jamie snapped, then popped a cork off a bottle with his teeth. He poured raw whisky over the blade. “Claire always does this before.”

John nodded. Jamie was right. Claire did, and he’d started to do it too. Pouring strong alcohol over his own cuts and scrapes and William’s too. 

“Now.” Jamie nodded at him. 

Grey sliced into the wound, connecting the two puncture marks. Feeling a strange, confusing rush, he leaned forward and placed his mouth on Jamie Fraser’s thigh. He suckled there, filling his mouth with the coppery taste of Jamie’s blood. 

A big hand fell on his head. “Enough man, ye’ll drink me dry.”

Those words sent another perplexing shiver through his body and Grey turned and spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. He looked back to Jamie, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand. 

Jamie’s normally tan face had already paled and the easy countenance he’d carried with him that morning had been obliterated. He looked tensed, strained. Pained.

John forced himself to his feet, the taste of Jamie’s blood still on his tongue. “Do you think you can stand?”

With teeth gritted, Jamie struggled. Grey reached out a hand, but he didn’t take it, just settled back down between the knotty roots of an overgrown tree. “Go, John. Find help if ye can. Reckon Claire will kill ye if ye dinna bring me back in one piece.”

“Quite,” Grey said with a weak smile. With the sickly burn of fear in his gut, John headed off into the woods in search of someone, thoughtlessly picking up the pit viper’s head and depositing it in his coat pocket.

Over the next half hour, hope was gutted from Grey like putrid entrails. He returned to Jamie, defeated. Their horses had been frightened off by either the gunshot or the snake or.. something, but they were nowhere to be found. Now, Grey was left with no way to drag two hundred pounds of dying muscle back to Fraser’s Ridge for resuscitation. 

Even in his condition, Jamie had somehow managed to start a fire and he was roasting the remaining portion of the snake on a spit.

Pale, grey-faced, Jamie frowned at John upon his lonely arrival, then looked down at the crisp body of the burnt snake. “Fair is fair,” he said to the thing.

_ Nothing about this,  _ John thought,  _ is fair.  _

“No sign of the men?” Jamie asked.

Grey tucked fingers into his palm, nails biting sharply at his skin. “No, none at all. But perhaps they’ll see the smoke from your fire.” Even as he said it, he was not convinced of it. “How are you?”

“Well enough…”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Aye, weel… I’ve pins and needles in my fingers. My lips are numb. That usual, d’ye ken?”

Grey frowned, settling besides Jamie with a feeling in his belly like he'd swallowed thousands of spiders. “How much whisky have you had?”

“No much. Thought I might need it more later.”

Grey nodded at that. The venom was eating away at the man, that much was obvious. What was less obvious was whether or not he’d be able to fight through it. The image of that horse, its neighs of pain and its mangled, petrifying body… then the horrible crack of a bullet crushing through a skull.

He shuddered the thought away and made to collect dry grass and heave it into the fire. It crackled and sparked into the sky. 

Jamie Fraser was the strongest and most stubborn man Lord John Grey had ever had the pleasure and displeasure of meeting. Still, he wasn’t sure if even Fraser could overcome the deadly toxin of a pit viper.

“You should lie back and rest,” Grey whispered.

Jamie nodded and started to lean back into the rocks. Grey tore off his own coat and folded it for Jamie to rest his head. He fought the urge to swipe at the loose hair crossing his brow. He leaned over the man to inspect the bite. The skin was swollen and red as fresh meat. The blood drained from Grey’s face, leaving his cheeks cold. Not sure what else to do, he loosened the tourniquet.

“Better?” Grey asked weakly. 

“Aye,” Jamie replied, his pained smile unconvincing. 

With his head cradled in Grey’s overcoat, Jamie drifted to sleep. In silence, Grey watched over him, afraid to look away.

When Jamie woke, it was under the deep inky color of the night. 

“John? Ye dinna happen to ken the last rites, do ye?”

His stomach curled up like a pill bug. “No… I don’t, and that’s not a problem as you won’t be needing them.”

“Ye dinna ken that. I feel myself burning up as we speak, John Grey.”

“I know you well enough to know you won’t be undone by a common reptile.”

Jamie gave him a look that said he himself was not so certain. “I need ye to promise me something…”

“Jamie…”

“No, man, listen. I need ye to promise me that if I canna, ye will kill Stephan Bonnet.”

“I’ll take great pleasure in seeing Bonnet dead, but we will do it together.”

“If we canna…”

Tears burned in Grey’s eyes and he looked up at the sun to fight them off. “You’ll get through this… but, to ease a sick man’s mind, yes, Jamie. I will see him dead, and Jemmy protected from him.”

With a strained breath, Jamie laid his hand on top of Grey. His touch was fire hot and clammy at the same time, yet it still made John feel warm inside and soft as clotted cream. 

“There is something else that I’ve been meaning to tell ye for quite some time.”

Grey’s heart beat hard in his throat like a thumping rabbit’s foot. “Please… please don’t say anything you wouldn’t say if you weren’t…”

“What? Dying?” Hand still on John’s he winced through a grin. “Thought ye said I wasna dying?”

“Jamie—“

“Just shut yer trap and listen for once, aye?” Jamie cleared his throat. “Ye remember when I left Helwater? What I offered to ye then?”

John’s eyes fluttered shut. He’d thought of that nearly every day since. “You know I do.”

“Well, ye dinna ken everything. I wanted to ken ye, completely, ye see, since ye were going to be father to my son. I needed to ken if ye were the sort of man who would… it feels so cruel now, to even have considered the possibility then. Knowing ye as I do now.”

A pit formed in Grey’s stomach, like the cracking open of the earth during a quake. “It was a test. You offered yourself to me… as a test. If I had accepted, what would you have done to me?”

Jamie squeezed Grey’s hand. “Nae, ye misunderstand me. The offer was a true offer. Ye see… when ye’re that close to someone, inside each other, tasting each other, close enough to feel each other’s hairs and breathe in their breaths, ye see something of their soul. I kent if we… made love to each other, that I could confirm that which I already believed to be true—that ye were a good man.”

Grey blinked, his thoughts a twisted briar. “And what if we had and you had not liked what you had seen of my soul?”

His brow furrowed, expression pinched as if for a moment he was not here in North Carolina but under the shelter of the woods at Helwater. “Then, I would have snapped yer neck right there by the lake, but ye wouldna have had my son.”

Grey bristled at the thought, an instinct to protect even his past self from danger. But what would he have done in a similar situation? Even now if he had to ensure William’s safety and well-being, what lengths would be willing to go to? The infant anger melted away, leaving in its place a solidarity between him and Jamie Fraser. In the protection of William, they would always be united.

“How did you know then? As you did not have me?”

“I kent how much ye wanted me. Ye said as much then.” Jamie shifted, hissing in pain. “And yet, ye turned me down because ye believed I didna feel the same as ye. That made ye an even better man than I had imagined.”

“If only I had been a little less honorable…” Grey said, another thought forming then. “If you knew by then, why did you… why did you kiss me? Pity?”

“Ye are an intelligent man, John Grey, but sometimes it’s like ye have cotton in yer ears. I kissed ye, man, for the verra simple reason that I couldna abide the thought of never having done it.” He laughed, then winced. “How’s that for a dying man’s confession?”

Jamie squeezed Grey’s hand, big fingers tucked up under John’s palm. He squeezed back reflexively, though he was rendered speechless by disbelief. 

All those years ago, Jamie had kissed him just because he’d wanted to kiss him.

Grey slid his hand away from Jamie and rose to his feet.

“What are ye doin’?” 

“Taking you home.”

  
  


From his coats and nearby sticks, Grey fashioned a makeshift sled of sorts to carry—or at least drag—Jamie with him into the woods.

“What is this?” Jamie asked, as Grey hefted him onto the thing. “The bed of Procrustes?”

“Could be worse, could be Charon’s boat,” Grey squeezed Jamie’s shoulder once in an attempt to comfort the man or maybe himself.

“Weel,” Jamie’s bleary eyes flicked up and down Grey’s body. “If I’m going to hell, I’m glad ye’re going wi’ me.” 

Jamie hissed in pain as Grey dragged him along, calling out for help. Jamie was not a small man and it took all his effort to drag him. Each muscle in Grey’s arms and his back ached and trembled under the pressure. He pushed forward with two thoughts:  _ Jamie is in much worse pain than I am _ and _ I can’t let Jamie die _ .

“Help!” John shouted, voice hoarse. He coughed, trying to regain some strength in his throat and made a passing comment to Jamie. He did not reply. “Jamie?  _ Jamie _ ?” 

Jamie’s eyes had shut. He was pale, dripping with sweat. Shaky and weak, but breathing. Thank God, whatever else was true. He was breathing. Still, it was evident that time for Jamie Fraser was running short. And a world without Jamie in it, was that even a world at all? If it was, it wasn’t one he wanted to live in.

“ _ Help!”  _ The word tore out of John’s throat even louder this time, despite the ache it caused. “Someone. Help!”

An answer from the woods sounded like a miracle. “Uncle Jamie! Lord John!”

“Here!” John shouted. “We’re here. Help! Help!”

The clomp of horses sounded through the woods and then three figures appeared from the trees—Ian, Fergus and Josiah on their horses.

“What’s happened?” Fergus said, sliding off his horse.

“Snake bite,” John replied, gasping for breath. “Pit viper.”

“Let’s get him on the horse,” Ian said, sliding from his own saddle.

Together, they worked Jamie’s limp body onto the back of Ian’s horse. Jamie’s eyes pushed open. They were distant, blurry. “John,” he said. “John?”

“I’m right here. We’re going to get you back to Claire.”

“What the bloody hell happened?” Claire said, looking horrified with a hand on her hip.

Grey could not blame her for it. “Pit viper,” he said. 

With Ian and Fergus’s help, they deposited Jamie onto Claire’s surgical table. He was conscious again and groaned in pain, grasping at his leg.

“Is there anything ye can do, Sassenach?”

Claire touched his leg gently, looking down at the puncture wounds with the curious focus of a physician. “I haven’t seen many snake bites. It’s not exactly my field of expertise.” She frowned, looking more like a wife now. “You look like you’ve been slow-roasted over a fire.”

“You need to work on yer bedside manner,” Jamie grumbled.

Just then, Marsali walked in the room carting wet cloths. She started laying them over Jamie. “For the fever,” Marsali answered his silent question.

When Marsali finished her work, Claire put a hand on her shoulder, then said to Grey, “Stay with him, will you?” 

John nodded, then Claire left the room with Marsali.

A moment of silence stretched out between them. Then, Jamie looked over at John with a furrowed brow. “Can I ask ye a favor?

“Of course.”

“If I dinna… weel, ye ken.. if I dinna…, take care of Claire for me, aye? Bree, Roger and the bairn too. If I am no here, they’ll need ye. I canna leave Claire alone.”

Grey turned tense as stone. He knew the weight of what Jamie was asking. He’d been asked something like it before. They’d discussed it not long ago. “You’ll be fine. Your wife is an excellent physician. She’ll—“

“Please.” Jamie grabbed his hand again. “Bring William to the ridge or bring them all to Virginia, I dinna care. It is not safe for them here wi’ out me. They’ll need you. And she’ll need a good husband.”

Grey’s mouth dropped open and he blinked, too stunned for words.

“Tell me ye will, if I dinna live. Promise me ye’ll marry her.”

“Marry Claire? You cannot be serious!”

“She’ll need ye. She may not ken it, but she will,” he said. “And I need ye now. To promise me this…”

Grey wanted to argue. To say Jamie was delirious and couldn’t possibly want to marry off his… widow to a man with Grey’s proclivities and man who had been in love with Jamie. Instead the only word he found was, “Yes.”

Claire cleared her throat as she came into the room and Grey instinctively tore his hand away from Jamie like it was a hot coal. She gave them both a look to rival the one she’d given them in Jamaica.

Silently, Claire laid out a selection of medical equipment and sharp, gleaming knives. She set out a folding saw, as well. The kind Grey had seen used during battles for field amputations. Grey dug his fingers into his thigh to steady himself. 

Then, Claire brought something that looked like tea up to Jamie’s lips. “It’s better than nothing, but I don’t know how effective the penicillin will be orally.”

“I’ve enough of yer needles for one lifetime.”

She tipped the liquid back into his mouth. Jamie’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Grey asked.

“Marsali has everyone out looking for maggots. I’m sure she could do with more help.

He shuddered. “Maggots? Why?”

Claire pursed her lips, pointedly not looking at her husband. “To eat some of the dead tissue. It will help stave off infection.”

He’d heard the term ‘infection’ before, but only from Jamie, who he could only imagine had gotten it from Claire. 

Grey stood up from the chair, drawing in a breath. He’d go. Whatever he could do to help.

Sweat dripped down Grey’s forehead as he slammed his axe into a log, smashing the wood with pent-up frustration. Why were maggots so goddamn easy to find when you didn’t want them and so bloody impossible to discover when you needed them desperately? 

The sound of boots crunching in leaves, shifted his attention. Brianna had arrived, a hatchet grasped in her hand. He sighed and sat down on what was left of the log.

“I swear I saw a rabbit crawl in here the other day,” Grey mumbled. He reached into his coat pocket, removing the snake head. “I don’t know why I even took it. I just felt compelled for some reason. I thought that maybe if Claire knew the species it might help. It was… foolish really.”

Brianna sat down beside him. “You did everything you could do, and you know Da as well as anyone. He’ll push through.” 

“I was hoping that if I could get him home to your mother in time…”

“He’s going to be fine. He’s too bloody stubborn not to be.” Brianna gave him a gentle smile, then her eyes narrowed. “May I have it?”

“Truly?”

She nodded. “Please.”

Grey didn’t understand Brianna’s request, but he indulged her.

She put the snake’s head into her own coat pocket, then appraised Grey as if he were something small and interesting under a magnifying glass. Brianna sighed. “Is there something else or do I have to pull every word of it out of you, bit by bit?”

John had come to care so deeply for this woman since they’d met. In this moment, it felt wrong to keep the truth from her under the circumstances. He also believed that she just might physically pull the words out of him. If anyone could…

“Your father and I have put a plan in motion to kill Stephen Bonnet,” Grey admitted.

Brianna leapt to her feet. “Are you both insane?”

“It’s entirely possible.” Grey gnawed at the inside of his cheek. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her, but then… she needed to know the stakes, needed the chance to protect herself and the child as well. “Bonnet could have the right to take Jemmy away from you.”

Fear clouded her eyes, contorted her face. “He…  _ attacked  _ me.”

“The law… it sees the child as proof that you were a… willing participant as…” Grey’s jaw clenched. If anyone knew how unfair the law could be, it was him. “… as God would not allow a child to be conceived through… violation.” 

“But we were already married, Roger and I! We were hand fast. He’s Jemmy’s father. How does the law not protect him?”

“You two were alone when you were handfast. There were a hundred witness to your wedding after Jemmy was born.” Grey frowned. “In any case, the law doesn’t mean much to a man like Bonnet.”

“Say something.” Grey’s voice was barely more than a whisper. 

“Let’s find these damn maggots.” Brianna swung her hatchet down hard into the log. 

Grey nodded, then stood, lifting his axe and headed off into the woods, in search of those goddamn maggots and a way to save Jamie Fraser.

As John Grey walked through Jamie’s home with a glass of milk in his hand meant for Jamie’s grandchild, he could not help but think of some of the last words the man had said to him— _ take care of Claire for me, aye? Bree, Roger and the bairn too. If I am no’ here, they’ll need ye.  _ He would do as Jamie asked, though he had no idea what the particulars would look like, and he didn’t want to think on it now. All that mattered now was it never coming to pass at all because Jamie would be alive. Jamie  _ had  _ to stay alive. Jamie, who had kissed John simply because he had wanted to.

The thought made the beat of John’s heart stutter.

Glass of milk in hand, Grey stepped out on the back porch. The sight before him hit like a punch.

Lizzie, who had been hanging clothes on the wire, screamed and dropped them. The bison he’d injured earlier stood before them, blood leaking from its hindquarters. One of its hooves scratched the ground as it chuffed. Dark eyes leveled on Jemmy, who had only begun to look concerned, a gourd clutched between his small hands.

The bison huffed again, cutting into the ground with its hoof. Jemmy let out a high-pitched cry. The bison reared up.

The glass of milk dropped from John’s hand as he rushed out in front of the bison, standing by the butchering table. “Hey!” he shouted, then whistled. “Over here, you bastard!” he spat. 

Anything to distract him from Jemmy.  _ Anything. _

The bison charged at Grey, missing Jemmy, its frightened intent now aimed squarely at John. He had no chance to run before the massive creature barreled into him, flipping him into the air. He landed hard on the ground, breath knocked out of him.

A gunshot cracked. The bison moaned and then hit the ground with a trembling thud. It bucked, still alive, thrashing and moaning in pain.

Grey struggled to his knees, grabbing the knife from the butchering table. He threw himself forward onto the rough fur and shoved the blade into the bison’s throat. Hot blood gushed over his hand and the creature fell still and silent.

Claire rushed down the steps, still smoking gun in her grasp. “John, my God, are you alright?” 

“Jemmy” is all he could manage.

“He’s fine,” Lizzie said, holding Brianna’s baby now. “Shaken up is all.”

“Aren’t we all?” John pushed himself to his feet, just to see Jamie stumbling onto the porch, a gun in his hand as well, as if he’d planned to help. He collapsed on the porch, limp and pale.

Whatever Claire was doing for him, it wasn’t helping. 

Hours later, the bison had been butchered and John was on the back porch steps, a cup of hot tea between his hands. Claire joined him, exhaustion etched in the lines around her eyes.

“Claire,” Grey let out a pained breath. “Be honest.”

“His body seems to be defeating the venom, but the infection is still there and I’m worried. It’s too deep for the maggots to make a difference… if only I had a way to get the penicillin into his bloodstream… I may have to take his leg and he… he’s made me promise that I won’t do that.”

Everything inside Grey felt tight. “What will happen if you need to take the leg and he won’t let you?”

Claire looked over at him with wet eyes. She said nothing, but  _ then, he’ll die,  _ was written clearly upon her face.

Grey shut his eyes, the awful reality pulling him under. He was only barely keeping his head above these choppy waters. If worse came to worse…  _ dear God…  _ he needed to tell Claire now.

“Did Jamie tell you what we spoke about earlier?”

“I’m not sure what you mean. Regarding what?” she replied.

“About us,” he answered, unable to meet her eye.

“You and him?”

He shook his head. “You and  _ I _ .”

“No,” Claire said. “He hasn’t spoken to me of it. Not yet, that is.”

“Well, Jamie’s asked me to... he asked me to... if he isn’t to make it… Jamie has asked me to marry you.”

Claire stayed dead silent for far too long. 

“Do you have anything to say?” Grey asked

“Yes,” Claire replied sharply. “I say the bastard can bloody marry you himself.”

“I just wanted to tell you, that in the event of… in the event… that I have given my word that I would ask.”

“Thank you.” Claire stood up from the steps. “For the warning.”

“If it comes to it,” Grey said, struggling to form the words because they tasted like betrayal. But there was nothing in this world Jamie needed more than Claire. She was his heart. What they had was Jamie’s everything, and if he could see it safe, he would. “Tell me how to do it.”

“Do what?” Claire asked, tiny creases between her brows.

“The amputation. Tell me how to do it and I will do it, however he feels on the matter. Jamie has hated me before. I know how to bear it.”

“Lord John?” Jamie said, his voice strained.

Grey sat up straighter, then leaned in towards Jamie. “Yes. Do you need anything?”

His head turned on the pillow, a feather poking through the fabric near his lip. “I wish to sleep in my own bed.”

Grey swallowed. Claire would certainly not approve of his being moved in this condition and moved out of her surgery at that, but his loyalty was, as always, to Jamie. 

As John worked his arms beneath Jamie to help him out of bed, he was reminded of all those years ago, after the duel when Jamie had carried him home in those massive arms. But now, he was weak, unbalanced, and burning with a devilish fever. All he could do was think to make a comment in jest, a desperate attempt to lighten an ever-darkening mood. 

“Ferrying you about is becoming an everyday affair.”

“As if ye truly mind.”

John scoffed, a heat of his own burning in his cheeks. “I’d rather you be the one ferrying  _ me  _ about. You’re quite heavy.”

“Quit yer complaining,” Jamie muttered as John heaved him out of bed. His body pushed against John, knocking him back and pinning him to the wall. They were pressed together. Chest to chest, belly to belly, thigh to thigh. 

On almost any other occasion, John would find this erotic…

With a grunt of effort, he pushed Jamie off him, and caught sight of Ian passing in the hall.

“Ian, come help me, please.”

Ian rushed in to support his uncle’s left side, while John had his right. Supporting the massive Scot was easier when he did not have to do it alone.

“Where are you moving him?” Ian asked.

“To his bedroom.”

“Why?”

“I want to be in my own bed,” Jamie replied, weakly. 

Ian frowned. “But surely you should listen to Auntie Claire and stay here, so that she can heal yer leg properly…”

“She says she can only do it by takin’ it off,” Jamie snarled.

Guilt pummeled Grey’s chest. He could hear the fear, the distaste in Jamie’s mouth at the idea, but he’d already given his word to Claire that he would participate and leave her free of the guilt, come the time.

With Jamie between them, they continued up to his bedroom, struggling along, stumbling as much as walking.

“What good am I without a leg?”

Jamie didn’t have to do anything but breathe to be of value to John and the same was true, of course, for Claire. He also understood why Jamie would feel that way, especially after what he had asked John. He was afraid for Claire’s safety and the safety of the rest of his family and the ridge if he were incapacitated. 

“Did ye ever say that to my father? Or to Fergus?” Ian asked, a brow raised.

Jamie frowned. “Fergus… was but a wee lad when he lost his hand—”

“And what difference does that make?”

As Jamie struggled over to his bed, waving a hand of dismissal. “He and your father… are more courageous than me.”

“Or not as proud or stubborn.”

Young Ian certainly had a grasp of his uncle’s character, John thought wryly. Jamie just pressed his lips together and said nothing, so Ian went on, “They’re still the same. It’s still them.”

This statement made Grey think of his old friend Stephan Von Namtzen, and how he’d manage to go on without his arm. 

“’Tis a matter of honor—”

“They each lost hand and leg in battle. There’s nothing honorable about bein’ bitten by a snake.”

Grey felt suddenly as if he were intruding on a private family matter and did not belong. “Maybe I should leave…”

“No,” Ian said firmly. “Stay. I want someone else to hear this.” He drew in a deep breath then let it out through his nose. “There were times I felt guilty when I was young… for wishing that ye were my father. I admired ye so much. I ran away to Edinburgh to be wi’ ye. But ye’re right. Now I do see how courageous my father was and  _ is… _ ”

Grey hadn’t known much of Ian, other than he’d been through quite a lot under the torturous thumb of Mistress Abernathy and with smugglers across the sea and then, in his time with Mohawk. This man was quite young and yet Grey found himself admiring him firmly. 

“I never thought I’d see the day I’d be ashamed of ye, Uncle.”

Night had fallen and Grey had begun lighting the candles on the wall and the one by Jamie’s bed side. When he was finished, he sat back down on the chair near the bed where he’d been all evening, sharing in pleasant, though sometimes strange conversations with Fraser. They’d rehashed much of their time in Ireland, the prison break and John being high on opium with little Tom Byrd passed out on top of him, while Jamie rowed them to safety. 

They talked about Helwater and about William and about their most memorable chess games. They talked, but Jamie also often dozed, and Grey would silently watch the rise and fall of his chest to make sure he was still breathing.

It was obvious, from the heat radiating off the man, that his fever was only worsening and his body weakening.

Grey gasped when Jamie’s hand fell on his knee, a thumb stroking over his breeches.

“John…”

“Yes,” he said, breathily.

“D’ye remember what I told ye? Back in the woods? About Helwater?”

“Of course. How could I not?”

“I never did, ye ken? Stop wanting to.” Jamie’s eyes flicked down to Grey’s lips. “D’ye think ye’d be willing to… now…”

Grey nodded, the invitation impossible to decline. He leaned in slightly, eyes on soft lips.

Claire stepped into the bedroom and John shot to his feet, eyes wide. He felt  _ caught.  _ Guilty, though he had done nothing. Yet.

“What on earth are you doing in here?” 

Grey’s wide eyes shot to Jamie. 

“I had to move, Sassenach, because I willna have ye sleepin’ in the surgery or on the floor… you should be in bed, but I ken that ye willna leave me alone.”

_ Oh,  _ Grey thought,  _ that’s what she meant, not…  _

“That’s kind of you, but—”

“Thank ye, John. Give me a moment wi’ my wife, would ye?”

He nodded properly, then drew in a deep breath. He walked to the door and before stepping away, he took a look back at Jamie, his face drained but still lovely, flickering in the candlelight.

It had been a long day and even longer night. Grey was exhausted, sleep tugging at his limbs and his eyelids. But how could he sleep? When… when he could wake up to a world without Jamie? Just the thought made his legs wobble beneath him, his stomach churn sickly and poisoned. He pressed a hand against the wall, but then slid to the floor. Grey sat there, knees tucked into his chest.

Had Claire not walked in when she had, Grey would have kissed Jamie again and, for the first time, knowing the man had truly wanted it. His fingers lifted to his lips, ghosted over them. How did he manage to still love and want Jamie with this ferocity? It has always been there, strong and relentless as a lion. He managed to cage it, but never kill it. Now, the locked door had been pried open.

“John,” Claire’s whisper floated down the hallway. “He’s asking for you.”

Grey whipped his head toward the sound of her voice. “He is?”

Claire looked serious, determined, and she nodded. “Please.”

Grey stood from the floor and walked back down the hallway. He moved to turn into the doorway, when Claire stopped him with her delicate hand. “I know.” She slid her hand down his forearm to his hand and squeezed his fingers. “I can’t say I understand it, but I do accept it. And you. He needs us both right now.”

Dumbfounded, Grey nodded and followed Claire back into their bedroom. Jamie looked even worse than he had several minutes ago. His body was pale as clean bones, his eyes sunken and purpling, like two symmetrical bruises. John had seen men close to death before…

Grey did not often cry. He wanted to cry now. “How do you feel?” he asked, to distract his tears.

“Like a pile of moldy tripe… wi’ maggots.” The maggots addition seemed more a complaint about his earlier reality of having the nasty buggers squirming their fat bodies all over his legs than anything else.

“He would joke on his deathbed, wouldn’t he?”

Jamie raised an eyebrow that somehow still managed to be clever. “Thought ye two said I wasna on my deathbed?”

“Are you hurting?” John asked.

Jamie shook his head. “No. I’m only… tired.”

Grey’s stomach sank.  _ I’ve seen dying men before,  _ he thought again, helplessly. 

“Come to bed,” Jamie said. “The both of ye, please.”

Grey’s eyes widened and his attention snapped to Claire who nodded, then moved towards the bed. Grey had been so preoccupied with Jamie, he only now noticed Claire Fraser was wearing nothing but a thin linen shift as she lifted the bedclothes and slid in beside her husband.

Trembling, Grey kicked off his boots, then removed his coats, undressing until he was wearing nothing but his shirt and his breeches. He stepped carefully forward, never taking his eyes off Jamie. He laid himself beside the man in the bed. Gathered his courage to gently touch his arm. Jamie didn’t flinch away. He leaned into it, and Grey wanted to sob.

Claire laid on Jamie’s other side, her face pressed into his shoulder. 

“Dinna leave me,” Jamie said, gruffly. “Either of ye.”

“We won’t,” Grey said firmly.

“Never,” Claire agreed, pressing a gentle kiss to Jamie’s sweat-sticky temple.

“I’m… so cold.”

Instinctively, John moved closer, pressing his body along the line of Jamie’s, trying to share his warmth. Claire moved in as well and they laid there together, closing around Jamie like two parentheses. Grey had always imagined lying in bed with Fraser would’ve been like stretching out in front of a big hearth. Tonight, it felt more like lying beside a drift of snow.

John blew out a breath through his nose and lifted his hand to stroke the backs of his fingers along Jamie’s arm. He still didn’t pull away, but, worse, Jamie didn’t react at all. Grey’s insides squeezed. He slid his hand down Jamie’s forearm. Grabbed at his wrist.  _ Nothing.  _

“Claire,” Grey spat, panicked. 

He looked up. She was already checking Jamie’s pulse. 

“Jamie! Jamie, please.” Claire leaned forward. Clutched at his chest.

Grey squeezed Jamie’s arm and tucked fingers into his hand. Panic boiled in him, hot and ugly.

Jamie drew in a sharp, gasping breath. His fingers clung weakly to Grey’s.

“Claire,” Jamie said first, then, “John. Touch me. Please. If ye can. Before I sleep.”

Those soft eyes shut. Muscled body, turned weak and boneless. Fear struck through Grey like bottled lightning.

_ Touch me.  _ The words echoed.  _ Touch me.  _

Claire knelt up on the bed and tore the shift from her body. Pale breasts bounced, pink nipples peaked in the cold. She threw herself down on top of Jamie, covering his bare chest with her own.

She moved down his body, skin sliding on skin.

Grey stayed frozen, then the words echoed again,  _ John, touch me. _

His fingers went to Jamie’s chin, easily shifted his slack jaw. Claire’s hand was…  _ oh God.  _ But even that steady rhythm didn’t matter or the words of fear and panic pouring from Claire’s. All that mattered was Jamie. Was keeping him here. Alive.

Grey closed his lips over the cold swell of Jamie’s mouth. He kissed and was met with no response. He kissed again. Deeper. Harder. Still nothing. Then, he pushed his tongue between Jamie’s lips, kissed him as if he were alive and breathing. Grey shoved aside the fear and kissed Jamie from that place he’d buried inside him so many years ago. 

The place that said  _ love him but don’t let him know. _

Grey would let Jamie know now. With everything he had. He would let him know.

Jamie gasped against his lips, drawing the breath from Grey’s mouth for his own. Claire stopped her movements and fell against Jamie’s hips, letting out a wracked sob. John leaned his forehead against Jamie’s, letting cool sweat stick their skin together. 

_ Alive,  _ Grey thought, clinging to him just as Claire was.  _ Alive. Here. Ours.  _

The next morning, Jamie woke, tangled with them both. “Ye gave me yer word, Sassenach. And now, I’m giving it back.” He caressed Claire’s forehead with his fingers, pressed a fleeting kiss to John’s hair. “When the time comes… ye can take my leg.”

Light filtered in through the gauzy curtains of Claire’s surgery. Jamie lay on a table, like a specimen surrounded by gleaming tools. John hated what was about to happen to Fraser, hated that he had to sit here and watch it, though he was grateful he didn’t have to do it, like he thought he might have. And he was grateful that Jamie wanted him here because finally,  _ finally,  _ Grey could bring the man comfort with his presence, his touch. 

“Where is everyone?” Claire muttered, sorting through her equipment. “I really could use Marsali. But I guess we’ll have to do.” Her eyes cast down to Grey, then up to young Ian. “The both of you may have to hold him down, understand?”

John had seen limbs removed before on the battlefield. Jamie was fierce, immensely tolerant of pain and yet, he was certain they would have to hold him down.

Jamie looked over at John, squeezed his wrist. “When it is done, carry the leg away. Bury it. Never tell me where.”

Grey responded with a solemn nod.

“I’m sorry,” Ian spoke up. “I didna mean what I said to you before…”

“Ye did mean it and ye were right to say it to me,” Jamie replied, then turned to Claire. “Ye best get on wi’ it then.” He flexed his toes, enjoying the movement for what would be the last time. 

Nausea bubbled in John’s gut.

“Anyone who would like to pray about it, please do,” Claire said.

Grey, of course, was not one for praying. If God existed, he couldn’t imagine Him being interested in the personal working of any one man’s life. Jamie believed differently and, for his sake, he’d pray.

_ Keep him alive through this. And after. Inside and out. _

Brianna burst into the room, startling Grey from his prayer. “Wait!” she shouted, striding across the room. Something unseen was cradled in her hand like a baby bird. “Did you know pit-vipers have beautiful engineering. Their fangs are connected to a venom sac in their cheek and so when they bite down, their cheek muscles squeeze the venom out of the sac… and down through the fang into the prey.”

“Bree!” Claire gasped.

“Mama, the fangs are hollow.”

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. You made a syringe!” Light shone from Claire’s face as warm as the glow of lantern. 

“What’s a syringe?” Grey asked, with a broken laugh, as if he wanted in on a joke everyone else seemed to understand.

“It’s a way to get Claire’s medicine into my blood.” Jamie smiled weakly.

“If this works,” Claire said. “We won’t have to amputate.”

Grey looked to Brianna. “Is that the same snake?”

She smiled a knowing smile at him and nodded. 

Jamie improved dramatically in the following days, though he was still mostly confined to his bed. The two nights since, both Grey and Claire had slept in the room with Jamie. Grey thought Brianna and, maybe Roger, had a sense of what was going on, but no one else. Maybe Fergus. He was French and saw things other’s didn’t. And if Fergus knew then Marsali knew. Still, no one said anything or acted like they had an issue with it.

Claire had left earlier to take care of a man who’d run afoul of a wasp’s nest, and for the first time, Jamie and John were alone like this. Grey had propped himself up on the pillows and Jamie rested his head against Grey’s chest, letting him run fingers through red-gray curls.

“You tried to die on me, didn’t you?” Grey whispered.

“It wouldna have taken much effort. Not dying was much harder.” Jamie touched John’s hand wrapped around his waist, turned the fingers over in curious inspection.

“You did. That’s why you made young Ian and I bring you here when we did. You were getting ready to die.”

“Weel, I didna ken for sure, no. But I did feel verra ill.”

_ “Jamie.” _

“I may have resigned myself to die, but that was before…”

Grey gathered Jamie closer to him. “Before what?”

“When I realized my heart was slowing, and the pain was growing farther away. The fever faded from my body, then my mind, left my thoughts clear. This is where I canna really say, but I saw…” He let out a heavy breath. “It was as if there was a… it wasna a door exactly but a passageway of some kind. And I could go through it, if I wanted. And, in that moment, I was so tired, ken? I did want to. I knew what lay behind me too.” His soft eyes flashed up to John. “I realized in that moment, I could choose: go forward or turn back.”

John felt a burn in his eyes, his throat tight. “That’s when you asked Claire and I to… when you asked us to touch you?”

“I needed the both of ye badly. The two of you. I kent it was the only thing that could bring me back.” Jamie shifted, sitting up slightly so he could look Grey in the eye. He lifted a large hand and stroked knuckles over Grey’s cheek. “Ye are so verra beautiful, John Grey.”

Grey let out a small shocked gasp and a smile flicked over Jamie’s face. He leaned up and brought their mouths together. He sighed into it, melting, soft as fresh butter. 

The ease with which Jamie moved John on top of him, despite his illness, surprised Grey. He contained so much strength, even now. Grey was perched on his lap, light as a canary, falling into kiss after kiss after kiss.

This had been worth the wait.

Claire cleared her throat at the door.

John startled, tried to pull away but Jamie held him in place. “Breathe, John. Claire doesna bite. Not unless ye want her to.”

“Oh, Jamie. Hush,” she said, shaking her head. Then, she swallowed. “May I join you both?”

Grey tensed under Jamie’s touch. Jamie leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Ye can say no. We dinna have to be together like that. It can just be us, when we are.”

It was clear Jamie and Claire had discussed this, and now he was being brought in.

“I’d like that,” Grey said. “Sometimes, but now…” he lifted his gaze to Claire. “I just want to see you loved.”

Claire smiled, lovely, and joined them in the bed. 

Grey could not be sure how long the three of them stayed in bed together. He did not care to think about anything beyond the tangle of soft linen and warm bodies. Jamie was warm now—warm as he always imagined—not feverish, just  _ alive.  _

Jamie spoke so often, while he did this, little words of praise and adoration spilling out of his lips.

_ Aye, Sassenach. Yer tender as milk. _

_ John, dinna stop. Not before my prick swells your mouth.  _

_ It’s sweet as honey between her legs. Kiss her there, then let me taste it from your lips. _

In the end, it was Claire’s mouth filled with straining cock and John’s lips and tongue between tight buttocks, licking him open, and dipping inside with oil soaked fingers. Jamie Fraser came like that, on their mouths, sobbing between them. Claire and John both came too, moments later, on their own hands. 

When it was over, they stayed close, a heap of naked limbs, painted like oil portraits in strokes of warm seed. Claire’s bare breasts remained on display, nipples still shimmering from the wetness of both their mouths, and their soft cocks were laid, spent, on still trembling thighs. Kisses were passed and shared so easily, like the secrets of children.

“I am glad for ye both, ye must ken that.”

“We do,” Claire said gently, sharing one of those soft kisses on his breast.

“I ken ye must leave sometime, John, but I hope it is not soon, and I hope that when ye do leave, ye come back quickly. Because, weel, because…” Jamie looked somewhat frightened as he cast his gaze to Claire, who gave him a small smile and nodded. He returned focus to John. “Because, ye see, I love ye, and I ken I have for a while now. Ye dinna have to say it back. I ken I’ve hurt ye—”

“I love you too. I think I may have loved you since the first time I saw you.”

Jamie snorted. “Ye tried to kill me the first time ye saw me.”

“Alright, Fraser.” John smiled. “Maybe it was sometime after that. But not much after.” And since then, always.  _ Always.  _


End file.
